ask for what you want (or, how to promote blogs you love aka mine)

I read Dooce when I began to hear so much about her story years ago. I stopped visiting her page out of brain-eating jealousy. On days I absolutely couldn’t stop from sneaking over to her domain, I clicked around as little as possible giving her the fewest page views AND BOY DID THAT SHOW HER.

God I’m ugly sometimes.

I can’t rival Heather Armstrong’s ambition, writing finesse, fashion savvy, photographic eye, or sense of humour. I believed if I had the ability, the drive, and hadn’t self-sabotaged with my stupid fucking chronic fear and self-loathing that has and continues to obliterate most of my dreams, I would have a well-loved blog. Maybe even a book or five.

I read blogs with writing that makes me reach for a cigarette. People with as little or less formal training than I possess burn up my insides with words. It hasn’t mattered how much endorsement I receive, how many MacBooks Steve surprises me with (six), or how many site designs he works on (four) because he believes in my writing: I knew my prose would be abandoned once people discovered there was better to be had. Others were already saying it so well, I convinced myself to shut up.

And I did. Two years ago I walked off the field.

This summer I started reading blogs again. And because lately my life has been about learning truths others are born knowing, the abundance theory flowered in me:

“There is a big world out there with enough space for every talented person to achieve his/her goals — if he/she is willing to learn and polish the disciplines of the craft.” (Definition snatched from here.)

I realized I have a story to tell that no one else does. Even if it’s the same story a million billion earthlings have, none will tell it with my voice. Maybe you’re interested in my version? Those who are will stick around.

I woke up (literally and figuratively) one morning this past July with itchy fingers. They needed a home. I asked Steve to believe in me one more time. With little hesitation, he made me something pretty. You guys, I’m so happy here. And I’m having fun. Great big, stupid, easy fun.

I wake up excited to write. I tell people I’m a writer. I believe it lately. And on days I’m feeling brave, I’ll tell you I’m pretty good at it and getting better. I’ll tell you I’m smart and funny and open, and that those things shine brightest in my writing.

Thanks for being here. Ironically, I can’t tell you what it means to me that you are. It has a fullness and dimension in my guts that I can’t capture with words.

And here’s the thing: It has recently come to my attention that people cannot read my mind. Something I’m working on is asking for what I want.

If you’re here, I’m assuming it’s because you enjoy what’s happening. If that’s the case, here are some ways you can help me promote my blog and explode my brain:

Like my Facebook page. This is probably the simplest and has the biggest impact. Doing this doesn’t only get me more likes, but helps build a community around my blog. My activity will show up in your feed. You’ll make me smile.

When I update on Facebook, if it resonantes, take a couple of seconds to like it or comment. This pushes my updates through to your Facebook feed and might intrigue one of your FB friends enough to check out my blog, and maybe they’ll like it enough to stay or share it with their people.

Comment on my posts. This is my favourite.

Find a post in my archives that resonates with you and share it on Facebook, Pinterest or Twitter. Or, link me up to a person or group you think might relate.

Link to me in your blog if it makes sense. Or, if it doesn’t make sense, but you’re feeling THAT much love for me go ahead and link up!

Tell me if there’s something I can do to make visiting easier, or if there are bugs I’m unaware of.

Anything else you can think of doing from my cheering section to promote me–I’m game!

Maybe you enjoy some perspectives I have, but others give you hives and you’re reluctant to recommend me to like-minded friends. Take a chance. Let people think for themselves; if they don’t like me, they get to leave.

If you do one or all of these things, I’ll be giddy. If you do nothing but keep reading, that’s also giddy-worthy. Part of learning to ask for what you want is being prepared for yes or no.